My Devil Trigger
by AwesomerArtie
Summary: A multiple chapter story meant to expand upon some of the events that took place in the Devil May Cry series, though with more than a handful of liberties taken.
1. Chapter 1

The Underworld. Hellish in appearance, exempt from the laws of uniformity plagued amidst the Human World.

Yes. Long ago they had been separated, split into two. Light and Dark forced to coexist in separate realms. While one was fated to become the domain of mortals, the other was housed by demons, and it is within those boundaries that each of them thrived for millennia.

One of those such demons often stared with neglect at the world standing beyond the Hell Gate, watching intently as countless lives were laid to waste by war and famine. For what purpose did he do such a thing? Envy, perhaps. That such weak-willed beings gradually consumed the resplendent world given to them. That demon was named Sparda, famously known as the most powerful swordsman across the Netherworld, though that title had been mostly accounted to rumors and legends. No shortage of demons had seen him fight his way through battlefields, slaughtering any and all who dared to stand in his way. The incomparable respect he had garnered in his lifetime had only been elevated from the day he began to serve under Mundus, The Prince of Darkness, self-proclaimed ruler of the underworld. It was only natural, really; For the strongest to desire the strongest. Their relationship had grown to be one of mutual respect. A rivalry imbued in friendship. Brothers in arms, through and through. For years, the two demons shared the same goal, the same deep-seated desire…

"You're watching them again." A voice, awfully deep, almost hoarse in nature. Mundus stood by Sparda's side, his three fiery red eyes fixated on him, the warm gaze of a companion. Sparda himself leaned against his knee, his downward-facing horns bringing unmistakeable grace to his posture, as they often did. "I suppose it's little more than a formality, at this point." He responded, lost to the view. "They do have quite the charming vistas though, no?" Sparda spoke unusually formally for a demon of his kind, a suave voice almost unbefitting of such an intimidating warrior.

Mundus shot his trusted general a grin, crossing his arms. "Time draws near, old friend. Soon we will all be doing much more than simply watching from afar." He seemed rather confident, a recurring trait of his. Sparda found himself shaking his head, playfully so. In a lot of ways, Mundus was just as much of a dreamer as he was, credulous to the very end. "To think we allowed ourselves to live in such depravity for so long." He carried on, his seemingly endless grandiosity making even the likes of Sparda stare in nihilism. "They'll fight back at first, I imagine. A war is coming."

After dawdling centuries, the Hell Gate would open yet again. The Human and Demon worlds would no longer exist in division. No longer would they have to live in a realm deemed the only one wicked enough to contain their immeasurable power.

The day would come where humans would learn of them.

For now, things would remain the same. While access to the Human World was limited, it did exist to those who dared to venture into it. Demons who travelled beyond the Devil Kingdom were however forced to take on human forms themselves, stripped of nearly the entirety of their power to withstand the journey. For most, it was a foolish crusade, best saved for daring ones seeking only the simple thrill of bloodshed. Demons did not usually return to Hell, needless to say, though some had gone as far as to become engraved in the humans' brief history. A quaint fallout of demon meddlesomeness.

" _You want to see them, yes? See them for what they truly are, before the Convergence."_

Sparda didn't seek any _"thrills"_ , much less to be acknowledged by such anemic creatures. He considered his first delving into the Human World to be a study, almost a necessity for what was soon to come. He had interests of his own in the humans; their world, even their culture. Although satisfying his curiosity was far from a crucial goal, it was not by any means something he intended to shy away from. The mundaneness of living amidst the humans intrigued him, though it was somewhat embarrassing to admit.

As for his choice in garments, Sparda had chosen something lavish, though not too gaudy for his human form… well, not from his perspective, at least. A dark purple overcoat with glimpses of red marks and symbols, all of them hinting at his ancestry. A personal touch, one may say. It was only complemented by his purple slacks and black dress shoes, as well as the white gloves he so delightfully sported. As his finishing touch, Sparda had chosen to wear a monocle, a single eyeglass on his left eye, so that one distinct battle scar of his would be properly concealed.

The white hair came as no surprise. An inherent demon feature he simply had no means to mask. It would be of no consequence, however. None of them would ever suspect of him, even under those circumstances. As the incessant raindrops fell on his shoulders, Sparda sighed out in contempt. Water falling from the sky? Indeed, an amusing feature of the Human World, and _ver_ y aggravating. Men and women alike walked through the streets of New York City with umbrellas of different colors. The ones who had the chance, couldn't help but stare in bewilderment at the extravagant-looking stranger who stood quietly under the rainfall, watching the common passerby with his unmistakable crimson eyes. Indeed, Sparda stood out like a sore thumb amidst the New Yorkers of 1963, though he had little means to help it. The human world was something he was only ever able to watch from a distance, after all.

He did not bother finding an umbrella of his own. Though irritating, it _was_ merely water. The way humans so feebly sheltered themselves from it only showed how fragile they truly were. Cars donned in yellow flashed by, making unbearably loud noises as they did. Men lied utterly unkempt on street corners begging for wealth, while women roamed those very same streets while scantily dressed, asking for much of the same. It was as fascinating as it was tragic.

In some ways, the thought that their time was so close to coming to an end brought some comfort to Sparda. Flawed beings desperately scraping by to survive, congregating and destroying the remnants of a perfect utopia given to them. The world would return to its beauty once the worlds converged once more.

As he walked through the endless crowds, the fog and the slippery sidewalks, one piece of architecture did catch Sparda's wavering attention. To the many humans living there, it had been named a church, a holy place meant to instigate faith amongst the masses. For Sparda, merely an alluring construction, not unlike the ones found in his homeworld. The Dark Knight felt drawn to it, oddly enough. Curiosity directing his every step.

The large stone door announced his presence for all to hear, his wet soles squeaking as they met the spotless white floor of the church grounds. Candles enveloped the various wooden seats, people of all ages praying for some being he had no knowledge of.

Replacing the ceaseless sound of rain was a soft musical chant, the captivating voice of a woman standing out amidst the various men and children joining the chant.

 _ **Hear us, O Lord, and have mercy, because we have sinned against Thee.**_

 _ **Hear us, O Lord, and have mercy, because we have sinned against Thee.**_

 _ **To Thee, highest King,**_

 _ **Redeemer of all,**_

 _ **do we lift up our eyes in weeping:**_

 _ **Hear, O Christ, the prayers of your servants.**_

As he stood on that doorway, dazed and wide-eyed, enraptured by the beauty of the sight before him, one thing stood out above any other: The woman singing atop the altar. Her passionate, angelic voice sending shockwaves through his body. Stunning strands of blonde hair only inches short of covering her delicate blue eyes. A beautiful human, she was. Unlike any other Sparda had ever laid his eyes upon.

For the very first time in his life, the General of Hell's Legion was left speechless.


	2. Chapter 2

" _I pity them… you know?"_

 _The sound of Mundus' voice took complete hold of Sparda's attention. For a moment deemed almost rare, his gaze no longer focused on the glimpses of the Human World the Hell Gate provided. Perhaps it was surprise, or mild curiosity. A statement akin to that one wasn't something the Demon Emperor made lightly. "They have such drive. Probably more so than you have," Mundus pointed out with an ever-persistent smile, a small jab directed at the general of his army, though Sparda didn't grant him a chuckle in return._

 _It… didn't make him any less right. Ordinary, powerless men and women hoping to seize the Human World for themselves were in great abundance throughout their history, for better or for worse. On the flip side, most demons would die happy with either a sword in their hands, or rotting somewhere after spending the entirety of their lingering existence without a single care in the world. Sparda stood straight, the flashes of light shining from the portal reflecting on his wings. Mundus was now the one to gawk at the Human World, his eyes emanating intense desire. Sparda couldn't take his' away from his Brother-in-arms, speechless at the presence he so strongly radiated ."... and yet, so frail, they are. A lifespan too short to hold any true meaning. I've heard some of their greatest leaders lost their lives to common diseases."_

" _Ever since the day we met, I've wondered. Do we truly deserve to live in such… darkness, while humans destroy the only light given to them?"_

The voices stopped, as did the chanting. For a short-lived moment, Sparda had little idea of how to react, the floor soaking wet thanks to the rainwater dripping from the bottom of his slacks. "My word!" An elderly man softly cried out, interrupting any semblance of thought the demon under disguise might've had. The old priest was notably shorter than Sparda, much of that owed to an excessive hunch in his back, while most of his wrinkles lied hidden away behind his large, gray beard. "Be very welcome, my friend. You are a new visitor, yes?" _Visitor?_ Thought Sparda, drops of water trickling from his nose as the demon raised his chin. Given the circumstances, and the need to avoid drawing suspicion, there was no response more appropriate. "I am," He stated almost proudly, adjusting the collar of the white shirt under his purple overcoat.

"I see that horrible storm has led you to God's arms! Come now, please." The older man took hold of Sparda's left hand, more or less dragging him inside. He could only feel how much warmer that place was as opposed to the streets outside the moment the pair of stone doors were shut behind him, though for a demon of his stature, humidity was hardly something to be concerned about. The priest led him to one of the seats, where Sparda would begrudgingly spend the following minutes, one leg crossed atop the other. The humans there were either too focused on their prayers to notice the lavishly-dressed man, or had already made space for the drenched stranger that had stormed in during their important ceremony.

Still, for as _out of place_ as Sparda felt, he did find himself lying back on the bench, drawn to the same woman as before; The one with the radiant eyes, donning a beautiful black dress underneath a red coat. For what reason? Well… he did not know himself, lost to the view, as he often was, long before the Human World was ever within his reach.

Minutes later and the angelical chanting had come to a definite end, the choristers slowly distancing themselves from the altar to return to their seats. The large majority of them joining their families. Sparda, then sitting upright in a manner rather inept, tried not to make it clear to the woman that he'd been staring at her from the moment he'd entered the church. Unbeknownst to him, however, the woman had taken clear notice of his looks. More than that, his stiffness had only led the woman to chuckle at his obvious attempt to act _oh so_ aloof. He was an odd fellow no matter how one sliced it… as it may be, that is likely why she was so keen to approach him.

Which she did, not very long after the singing had stopped, making the demon knight grip the end of his seat in some form of apprehension the instant he noticed as much. No matter what, his real nature couldn't be brought to light. He could not let that happen under any circumstance.

The woman dressed in red practically threw herself in the chair. Exhausted by the looks of it, and acting rather casual about it, a large contrast to the wooden posture Sparda had found himself in. She didn't say anything at first, almost taking joy in watching the man pretend she wasn't there. Given enough time, her red lips did let go of words, a soft smile accompanying them. "What's your name, big guy? I know it's not any of _my_ business, but you look pretty lost."

"My name?" Asked Sparda, unconsciously gritting his teeth. The thought of having been placed in such a dire situation by a single mortal woman had warranted enough frustration to last a lifetime, and it only grew the longer he spent unable to come up with an answer that wouldn't dig him in a different hole. "Stephen," the demon replied matter-of-factly, looking onward, away from the woman in his right. He couldn't tell then, but she'd rolled her eyes at his response. It was pretty clear her attempt at striking a conversation hadn't been successful, Sparda himself hoping she would simply leave were he to ignore her for long enough… further proof, really, that the devil's luck was nothing more than a myth. "Eva," she said carefreely, breaking the silence. _So that's her name…_ Despite that, the silence endured for a little while longer, Sparda pulling on the white glove over his hand while Eva yawned in the background. The priest from before had walked up to a lectern in the center of the room, doing one of his customary sermons, though neither the woman _or_ the demon seemed to show any interest.

"I like your necklace."

She referred to the perfect amulet, a red ornament Sparda wore on his neck. Its real purpose was one the mortal Eva couldn't possibly imagine. The amulet was indeed a key, allowing one free access to the Demon World if they should so desire; be them human or otherwise. It was Sparda's sole guarantee that he'd have the means of returning to his home. He smiled, nonetheless. The human likely thought the ornament was simply a piece of jewelry. If anything, his elegant clothes the humans so often called attention to served to mask just that. "It's quite… different," continued Eva, who leaned closer to inspect it. Sparda saw no problem in it... Why the woman had the same devotion he had in regards to appeasing her curiosity, it seemed. The demon held out the amulet with his thumb and forefinger, allowing the human girl the close look she so badly wanted. "Different," echoed Sparda in a low voice, the term robbing a snicker from the Dark Knight. "You look good, that's all I'm saying." She shrugged, returning his smile.

"Thank you."

That felt… nice. Conversing with humans was certainly different from the raw contest of a battlefield. Not as easy, or as rewarding, but… oddly calming. "You look… magnificent," he said nigh instinctively, his soft tone bringing about a modest flush in Eva's cheeks, one that the woman tried laughing off. "Oh, I like that word," she told him in jest, waving her arm back and forth. Eva could practically feel the priest's unhappy gaze dawning on her and 'Stephen', which lead the woman to pipe down for a moment, closing her eyes with a sigh.

"Who is it you were chanting about? The one you 'serve', and asked for mercy," Sparda found himself asking, his gaze having the altar as its focal point. Eva didn't seem to understand the question at first, as though the mere thought of a person not knowing of Christianity was alien to her. After two consecutive blinks, Eva cleared her throat, now relatively certain the man beside her wasn't a local. Not that she needed the confirmation given the ludicrous choice of clothing.

"Well, he's the creator. The one who preserves all things. The guy's infinite, y'see. Beyond the... world of humans."

 _Nonsense,_ thought Sparda, scrunching his nose. To be beyond the world of humans… could the mortals be worshipping a **demon**!? The Dark Knight had no way of finding out for sure, though the shock stapled across his face definitely sold his unmitigated surprise. Something else bothered him, however. Another fact that gnawed away at his seldom quenched curiosity. "You pray for a being you have never met? Whatever for...?" Eva spent a moment pondering over the question, less so because she didn't know the answer herself. Quite the opposite. As it stood, explaining the _concept_ of religion to someone wholly unfamiliar with it was definitely something new for her. "You've ever been put in some really tough spot? Somewhere you… just can't see yourself getting out of?

"When… for the first time, you really think everything's over." Sparda felt a lump forming in his throat. With it, furrowed brows, and the urge to look away from the woman beside him. A feeling he had yet to grow accustomed to, ever since the last great war.

He remembered the details rather acutely, the events which took place not even two hundred years prior.

 _Hundreds of them. Spears and scythes in their hands, all methodically dashing in his direction, longing for carnage. Sparda smiled, holding firmly the handle of his enormous sword until the single right moment came to use it. With a single swing of the Force Edge, the ground shook, chunks of terrain flying upwards in sonic speed, as did the corpses of his enemies. The dozens of demons once charging towards him had been split into pieces, a spiral of blood leading to the tip of his sword. The ones too close to his strike had been reduced to ashes, and nothing more…_

 _Yet more came. More, more, and more. Sparda swung his blade with great momentum, so fast, it was as though it sliced through time itself. They surrounded him from all sides, and still… he continued to strike them; left, right, to his back and front, in almost rhythmic fashion. Spears pierced his knees, chest, shoulders… Swords dug deep into his flesh… but he did not stop. He couldn't, until they did. He had always been prepared to die in battle. The Legendary Dark Knight was certain of that, had been for the entirety of his life._

 _Was he, truly?_

 _As Sparda began to gasp for air, blood oozing from every corner of his body… for every single second he had to rest, he knew true despair. Had he been one of faith, as Eva was… perhaps he would have prayed. Prayed for someone to come to his aid, as did she. Even so, as the looming shadow of Mundus' army slowly appeared before him, the scorching fire that were the three eyes emerging from the skies... it seemed as though the need to do so would not be coming that day._

"Sometimes people, they just… need someone to rely on. Someone that'll be there to help them out when no one else will. No matter who, or what they are." Who was _he_ to mock the belief of humans? Though it was hardly proportionate, even demons had faith. As a matter of fact, that faith had been what drove him to the Human World, to Eva's side, in that very moment. "I understand." He gracefully nodded, acknowledging the woman's passion. "You do? Great!" She, in turn, seemed rather excited at the fact that he was so quick to understand. "Y'know, give it time, and maybe you'll get into the whole shebang yourself. God knows the old man could use some more company. What do you say?"

"I'll…" He chuckled. The woman's enthusiasm evidently quite contagious. "I'll think about it."

* * *

Sparda couldn't tell what time it was, much less how late. Concepts like _day and night_ were fairly incongruous for a demon. Most of the churchgoers, though, by then had all risen from each of their respective seats. Heading back to their homes, he imagined. _What a strange place_ It really was incomparable to anything from his world. Children, families gathering in a single chapel to show their faith to a being so powerful, the sole claim of his existence drove them to do so. He supposed it was commendable, in a way. That the humans had at least one form of unity, a consensus they could all share. Perhaps it was understandable why such fewer wars had occurred between the humans, as opposed to the Demon World… though only to a certain extent.

Eva kneeled next to a shrine, a cross between her folded hands. Sparda hadn't left his seat, not yet, though the thought of Eva needing to leave to her home… it induced him to get to his feet, concern for a human he hardly knew washing over him. It was remarkable how beautiful she was, even from such a distance. The demon's hands rested within his pockets, as he awaited her to finish her prayers. Once Eva stood up herself, she was met face-to-face with the tall, white-haired man once more, the two sharing a smile before Sparda opened his mouth to speak. "May I take you home?"

"You're not gonna take advantage of a lady you _just met,_ are you? I'll have you know I'm not that easy, Steve." A nickname, only a handful of hours after they'd first met. Another concept too _human_ for Sparda, though one he would have likely been charmed by otherwise. Eva leaned her head to the side with a half smile, placing one hand in her hip. Sparda, on the other hand, looked stunned by the implication.

"I would never…!"

"Joking. It was a joke." _I - I see…_ Sparda frowned unamusedly whilst Eva sauntered past him, the woman in red turning her head around to shoot the demon a wink. "C'mon."

The rain persisted, a grievance to most New Yorkers forced to roam the streets, and even more so to the ones forced to live in them. Eva carried with her a bright red umbrella, one that matched neatly with the color of her coat. The object in question lied open, shielding its owner from rainfall, as well as the man accompanying her. Only a few hours had passed, and the city looked drastically different. The once busy streets had ceased to be so; loud chatting and sirens replaced by soft _meowings_ and flickering lights. Sparda much preferred it that way.

"Where you from? Any family?" Eva's habit of breaking their silence continued, just as potent as ever. Her questions just as troubling. He'd continue to avoid the subject, dance around it for as long as he could. Not that she'd believe him either way. "I… I'm from quite a ways away, Eva." Sparda sighed, neon signs reflecting in his monocle as he stared off into the distance. "No family." Unlike before, Eva didn't give up. Her questions came like an unrelenting barrage. "Let me guess. You're some lord from… I don't know. Great Britain. Is that it?"

He seemed more amused than anything, looking down at his feet with a smile threatening to expose that fact. "Something like that, sure."

"Mystery type. I see."

"Y'know, most girls wouldn't trust a guy dressed in purple."

Sparda exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "... but you're not most women."

"I'm not," she answered in a manner meant to be tongue-in-cheek, though when it came to things Stephen was able to pick up on, those seemed to be more hit-and-miss by the second. By the time the blonde had laid off trying to pry any sort of answer out of him, they had already reached the outskirts of her home. It was modest, but cute. A small gate protecting a very well kept garden leading to a large house painted in beige. "Say, you don't have an umbrella of your own, do you?" Sparda widened his eyes at the realization, immediately raising his hand. "I - It's alright, I can-" Before he knew it, Eva's red umbrella had been thrown at his chest, the demon grabbing it with ease before it could hurt him. _Careful, woman!_ "Same time tomorrow. You better give that back. I mean it".

The thought of protesting was definitely there, crossing his mind like a wake-up call of common sense. He had no business becoming acquainted with a human. No reason to stay in their world for any longer. "I'll be there." Yet the words left him on their own, the desire to see her again much too strong for reason to keep it quelled. "Great," Eva said with a grin, sarcasm embedded in her voice. As she grabbed her keys to open her charming wooden door, Eva looked at Sparda one final time, waving him a brief goodbye.

"See you, Stephen."

Suddenly, Sparda stood alone in the rain once again, holding the umbrella of a woman he could no longer deny being infatuated with. He lacked any words, really. That night had happened in what felt like a flash, before he even had the chance to rationalize it… and he wanted more. Sparda wanted to see that human again. The simple thought of her eyes brought a warm smile to his face he had no means of controlling, emotions he had never felt before. "Eva," he uttered to himself, looking up at the sky, letting the drops of rain splash against his face.

 _It's so cold outside._


	3. Chapter 3

" _I don't know..." Sparda answered in an even tone, not shying away from his uncertainty. Mundus' goal was as obstinate as he was, that much was certain. Could their kind truly take the Human World by force...? They were weaker, yes, but the humans vastly outnumbered them. To take the fight to them, in their own realm, seemed like a fool's errand._

 _But then… that wasn't what had Sparda so averse to the idea in the first place. Killing had never been something he took pleasure in. A necessity, perhaps. A means of survival. The comfort of battle could never be placed atop the anguish brought upon by murdering his own kin. Did Sparda have the strength to do the same to humans? Beings with no means of self-defense. Beings they had such little knowledge of, who meant no harm to the Underworld? It was a conflict he had kept hidden away from Mundus, deep within the workings of his mind. A conflict that the Emperor of the Demon World did not have a semblance of. "Humans are so interesting, aren't they?," continued Mundus. "They've divided themselves into different nations. Each with its own culture, inner-workings..." The demon looked over the Hell Gate below, his three eyes flashing in deep red. "... each with its own leader."_

" _I fear they'll destroy themselves if we do not intervene."_

 _Once more, Sparda found himself with nothing to say, an unspoken sense of agreement in his eyes as he listened to Mundus sigh in contempt. Human wars were very unlike theirs. Merely decades ago, they had entered a conflict of global scale, killing millions of their own in the process… devastating the very world they lived in. Demons might have been ruthless to their core, but they would never harm any who did not take part in battle. Even those who would were terminated by Mundus, who sought nothing but coalition between his kind. No demon child had ever faced death under him._

 _The same couldn't be said for the world beyond the Hell Gate._

" _Lust. It's a… common human trait. I'm sure you've observed it, same as I have." He had, in fact. Sparda had observed much more than any common demon should. "They continually want more. They need more to feed their… ego. That damned thing can't ever be satisfied." It was rare to see Mundus angry. Genuinely enraged. It was his role as their ruler, he supposed; To keep his emotions in check. It was only when conversing with Sparda, his most trusted soldier, that he conveyed his true, honest thoughts. "I'd like you to picture this, Sparda: Were they to have one single ruler, powerful enough to quell the eradication of the Human World and the savagery of the Demon World all at once."_

" _Would we not finally prosper?"_

Eva had been waiting for him, and Sparda was running awfully late. How long had it been since they met on that rainy night…? Though it felt like little more than a brief assemblage of time for the immortal demon knight, for Eva, well... her calendar would beg to differ. Over a month, it had been. With time, Sparda found himself returning less and less to his home, entranced by Eva and her kind. His garments had been simplified by then, much to the young woman's celebration. The jacket he sported was now of a much tamer shade of purple, while his slacks were replaced by a darker pair of pants. Sparda didn't lose the monocle, however, playfully claiming it made him look dashing. Eva had been rubbing off on him far more than he would care to admit. They'd begun to meet in places outside the church since roughly a week ago, other of Eva's friends accompanying them on occasion. They had visited marketplaces, theaters, once an intricate stand selling meat inside two slices of bread. For Sparda, learning of the world at Eva's pace was as overwhelming as it was enchanting. A neverending abyss of thorough excitement. It'd be hard for anyone to claim his travels were still purely for exploring enemy grounds. Sparda was in love, in the very literal sense of the word.

This particular venture involved a corner of the city she sounded quite fond of. Eva kept details scarce, mostly due to the fact she _knew_ Sparda wasn't familiar, regularly smiling at the surprise in his eyes every time they visited someplace new. This time would be no different, he imagined.

He'd gotten there, to where they were to meet. Momentarily, there was no sign of Eva, not until a rolled up newspaper hit the back of his head with force, enough so, it actually hurt quite a bit. It took no longer than a second to guess who the perpetrator was. "40 minutes late!? Steve, I oughta rip your eyes out!" It was easy to forget she was the churchgoing type, most of the time.

"Now, now. I had something to do. No need to be so sullen about it," he told her, rubbing the back of his head before readjusting his burgundy tie. "I'm _not_ … sullen." Eva laughed, pulling him by the sleeve of his jacket. "C'mon, you're gonna love this place." With the little he had to go by, it was difficult to share the sentiment. The only thing Sparda had been able to pick up on before being dragged inside was the name of the establishment, a lavish sign extended atop its entrance: The Kindred Rose.

The place she'd so merrily mentioned prior felt strangely distinct, even when juxtaposed with the church him and Eva so often spent their time in. Tables and chairs spread across the lounge's wooden floor, and in its center, a counter surrounded by stools. Numerous glasses, bottles of different colors… an unmistakable smell of liquor and fume. Sparda could feel his nose scrunching, his arms wrapped around his chest. What on earth attracted someone like Eva to such a greasy place? She looked unshaken by the sight _and_ the smell, heading inside without giving Sparda so much as a second glance. It was a slow day, it looked… though unbeknownst to the demon, in the Kindred Rose, busy days were few and far between. It maintained a faithful clientele through the likes of Eva, usually just enough to pay rent. Still, there were two kids running through the wide space the bar provided. A girl and a boy; both who seemed to be around ten years old, though the girl looked much taller. The soft jazz the bar's jukebox so kindly provided muffled their thundering steps, though only to a certain extent.

Before he knew it, the 10-year-old's head collided violently with Sparda's stomach, the impact sending the boy flying backward. It wasn't pretty. The boy rolled at least once before smashing his head against the counter, an impact that made it feel as if the ground itself had shaken.

It looked as though Sparda's human form still had some unique quirks of its own, much to the demon's misfortune.

Eva immediately placed her hands on her hips upon noticing the commotion, the woman leaning down slightly to face the rowdy child. "Robin!"

"I - I'm sorry, missus Eva. I didn't mean to-" The little girl, sporting an orange scarf and a flat cap, suddenly held the boy by his ear, twisting it and dragging him off the floor, effectively interrupting any excuses he had to give. "Quit running around like that, you moron!" She stated indignantly, pulling him away from the scene…

… and what a _scene_ it was. Somehow the Human World kept finding brand new ways to maintain Sparda's jaw on the floor. "Nevermind them, Steve," Eva told him with a sigh. "You okay?" He only nodded, his parted lips not giving away any sort of response. _Children._ Those little punks were the same no matter which side of the Hell Gate you found yourself in.

The bartender was a strange one. A lengthy, dark-brown hair descending to his neckline, and in it, not a single well-kempt strand of hair. What made him stand out the most was the stick in his mouth with a glowing end; A cigarette, to those familiar. He had one at every feasible opportunity, often filling the place with large clouds of smoke.

"Harry! Two shots for me and my friend here," Eva called out, knocking on the counter two consecutive times. The man in question was polishing a glass he held in his fuzzy hand, only raising a brow at the woman who'd disturbed him "Comin'."

There was _some_ merit to what Eva had told him earlier, Sparda supposed. Rare was it to come across such a relaxing environment; Human _and_ Demon Worlds alike. As he lowered himself, letting his tail end meet the cushion atop one of the stools, little else could convince him further of that fact, the demon knight's elbows resting on the counter. In that state of his, he remained rather oblivious to the whispers taking place in his right, letting the echoing sounds of saxophones drown everything else out.

"Who's the old man?" Asked Harry as he added the needed ingredients to his cocktail shaker. He, of course, referred to Sparda's white, swept back hair, by no means the shade any common man should have. "Hey, be nice." Eva spat back, leaning closer so that she could lower her tone. _"I think he dyes the hair. Looks good, right?"_ Harry narrowed his eyes, the cigarette leaping in his mouth as he let out a scoff, small chunks of ash landing on his chin stubble. _"Looks like a freak."_ The woman rolled her eyes, a smirk robbing her of every ounce of maturity still left in her. Given time, Sparda too leaned closer to the pair, furrowed brows giving away his curiosity. "W - Who are the children…?"

There was an instant of awkward silence, Eva staring at the bartender with a look of amusement, patiently waiting for his response. "Those are Mel and Robin. They're, uh… _'regulars',"_ he said, and to that, Eva shook her head with a smile, one that faded away the moment the woman spoke up to elaborate on Harry's explanation. "Those two were orphaned at an early age. Poor things. Harry lets them sleep in the back when it rains. Even feeds them, the big softie." Eva slapped the guy's shoulder in a manner intended to be playful, though it nearly caused the drinks she'd ordered to splash on the floor. _This woman..._

There was a certain aura about her. She _was_ fun, lively to her core, but astute too. A human who took such few things seriously and yet took no imprudence from anyone… even _him._ It was impressive, curious, and… just mesmerizing.

Once Harry had laid the two glasses amidst the counter, he stretched his back in exhausted fashion, blowing out a puff of smoke in the process. "It's not charity. They sweep the place and do the dishes." Eva shot at him a wide grin, bringing the drink closer to her. "That's okay. No one's questioning how _stern_ you are, tough guy." Sparda smiled along with her, staring with interest at the red-colored drink in the woman's hand. "What _is_ that?"

"This, Steve, is a Bloody Mary. Bottoms up!" Eva held the glass firmly, lifting it up and chugging the whole thing down in one go, getting even the stoic bartender to widen his eyes. "Christ! Take it easy!" He yelled at the woman, to no avail. A long, deep breath from Eva announced to both her spectators that she'd finished the drink, the glass being placed back on the counter with force. "Your turn. Show me whatcha got." Eva said in what almost sounded like a yelp, looking Sparda straight in the eye. The demon under-guise blinked three times in quick succession, a moment spent in contemplation before he adhered to the woman's challenge. He took hold of the glass in a way similar to hers, bringing it close to his mouth for a sip of the drink.

The spice got him before the burning in his throat did, though only by a microsecond.

Sparda forcefully shut his eyes, holding back the fit of coughing that followed with his left hand. What in the blue blazes was _in_ that drink!? "Alcohol not your strong suit, man?" Asked Harry, resisting the urge to poke fun at the stranger. Truth is, Sparda had never had it, not a thing like it. The taste was odd, though somewhat alluring. Exotic in the most endearing way possible. In time, the demon took another sip, and another, letting the flavors sink in and dance in his mouth. "Fit for a king, right?" Eva nudged his shoulder, and Sparda laughed in return, lost in the woman's eyes.

"Can I have some, _pleeease?_ " A softer voice asked, nearly demanded, to the right of Sparda's leg. The kid, Robin, had short and spiky red hair, freckles covering his sharp, pointy nose. The kid pulled on Sparda's jacket like a toddler, ecstatic to have a taste of the mysterious red drink rivaling the shade of his own hair. Harry slammed his hands on the counter, looking down on the child with gritted teeth. "For the thirtieth time, no, damn it!" The other child, the dark-haired girl, crossed her arms and shrugged her shoulders, scoffing quietly. " _Only cause we can't pay for it, right?"_ The scruffy-looking bartender simply waved his hand dismissively, frowning at the two freeloaders. "Shoo."

* * *

In time, the mellow jazz that enveloped the Kindred Rose quickly waived in place of a kick of drums, a song with a faster, more exciting beat reaching the patron's ears. Eva tapped her fingers in-rhythm with the roaring trumpets, a gentle smile complimenting her angelical expression. They'd both been drinking for a dreadful amount of time, her cheeks and ears flushing red in immediate response. Sparda was no worse for wear, though his genetics plainly made him less susceptible to its effects. The kids were asleep in one of the seats, by then, while Harry read himself a book to kill time until the place was closed, his legs rested on top of the counter. The demon's eyelids felt heavier than usual, shot glasses on top of shot glasses piled up between him and the human girl.

It'd been a long but comforting silence, not dissimilar to what one would hear after an arduous battle… one Eva would have surely won, in that analogy. Indeed, the silence was only disturbed by the music, one that had even the oblivious Sparda tapping his feet. Eva herself looked too focused on her own thoughts to pay any mind to anything else… that is, until her weary eyes met Sparda's.

"You ever danced before?"

The white-haired one felt his wicked heart skip a beat, his somewhat pointed teeth exposed by his parted lips. "I… No, I haven't," he admitted, averting his gaze. The thought of… losing oneself to a piece of melody was beyond foreign for any demon, no matter his rank, standing, or character. It was a soothing one, nonetheless. So human it brought a faint smile to his face. Eva tilted her head to the side, the edges of her long blonde hair accompanying her every movement. "You wanna?"

Sparda gulped, returning his gaze to her. _Do I… want to?_ That bid of hers sounded just… unthinkable. Dancing… he could never-

Suddenly, the young woman took hold of Sparda's arm, pulling him up from the stool he sat on and forcing him to his feet. "Eva, this…" the demon tried to protest as she led him away from the counter, nervousness nearly causing him to stumble from the get-go. He'd make a fool of himself… if he could just dissuade her in time... "Don't talk right now," Eva cut him short in a whisper, her fingers delicately descending from the demon's forearm to his wrist. Sparda found himself incapable of saying anything coherent, that feeling gradually turning more prevalent as the human nuzzled against his chest, leading his every movement. He felt Eva's touch, her soft hands pressing against his'... and for a lingering moment, Sparda could think of nothing else, his mind drawing a far-reaching blank. Eva's feet moved left and right, right and left, and his' followed suit. Her moves remained simple, at least simple enough for Sparda to follow, yet she emanated confidence all the same, the blue eyes he once admired from a distance now inches away from his faltering gaze. Close… so extraordinarily close.

Eva smiled warmly, that warmth reaching the very depths of Sparda's heart and melting it whole. He froze on the spot, a wavering smile of his own cropping up beyond any control of his. "You're so beautiful," he said in what could easily be mistaken for a murmur, robbing a chuckle from Eva, who found herself shaking her head one final time. "I told you not to talk…" The human girl pulled him closer with her hands, grazing her lips over his before leaning in for a passionate kiss.

It felt as though the whole world had stopped, taken a backseat to that tender moment they shared. Sparda could no longer hear a single note of the once resonant music, the soft snores of the children beside them, or even the loud beating of his heart. Nothing else.

 _"Humans are so interesting, aren't they?"_


	4. Chapter 4

Glimpses of sunlight snuck through the edges of the windows inside the Kindred Rose, reflecting in the glasses sitting on top of the counter and laying bare the worn wood it was made of. Sparda's eyelids rose ever so slightly, exposing his crimson eyes to the powerful light that enveloped the lounge room. Though he found himself resting on one of the leather seats, a long blanket covered his frame in nearly its entirety,

Eva… The woman had her eyes shut, her long strands of hair resting upon her cheeks, covering her eyes. The woman nestled beside him, coated under the blanket in the same way he was. Shock engulfed Sparda's expression, like powerful sparks, the moment he felt her hand softly caress his shoulder, the demon swallowing hard. Had they… slept together? Sparda slowly shook his head, covering the outline of his forehead with the palm of his hand. No, it couldn't possibly be. He and Eva alike still wore their clothes from the previous night, though the demon knew not whether to be relieved or… let down. _Ridiculous. I should be thankful it didn't get that far._ The children - They too were under soft, violet sheets; the boy drooling from his mouth, inches away from falling off the seat he doze on.

Trying to remember what happened last night was an arduous undertaking. Flashes of Eva's lips came to mind, the music that led his steps, but not a thing of what followed. Could it have been an effect of the liquor?

He had little time to dwell on it, an unmistakable voice violently pulling him away from the depths of his own thoughts. "Morning," Harry blurted quietly, strolling through the bar with a smoke nestled between his lips. _Of course._ The weary bartender leaned against the counter, staring bemusedly at the overnight couple. "The two o'you passed out on the chair. Told her not to overdo it." There was a glass of water on the table, right in front of Sparda, one that he soon found himself clutching, tearing away from its place and drinking as though he had to quell the thirst of three men. "I, uh… left that there to keep you guys warm. The kids, too," he added, shooting a glance at the velvet blanket.

Harry looked a lot more casual without his brown, leather jacket, wearing only the untucked white shirt beneath it. In fact, with the dawn of morning, the entire atmosphere that once surrounded the Kindred Rose had changed. Slow-paced Jazz replaced by the chirping of birds, the busy steps of children by utmost silence. Sparda found himself smiling warmly as the last drop of water met his tongue, even in spite of… everything that'd happened last night; The burning emotions and the confusion that led to that moment. Thinking rationally had become an arduous challenge, as had denying the undeniable. The truth that stood right in front of him.

Sparda had fallen for a human.

What of his purpose, then? What of Mundus, his comrades… The convergence? As the empty glass returned to its given place, the demon found himself contemplating just that. Journeying to the Human World, seeking to understand its inhabitants, despite knowing of the tremendous curiosity that weighed down on his soul. Had it been a mistake?

"We close on Wednesdays anyway, so I figured, y'know." As he spoke, the brown-haired man flicked his thumb down, causing the lighter in his hand to generate a small flame, which he brought closer until it met the tip of his cigarette. Sparda did not answer, though the sense of gratitude in his eyes said more than any mere words could. Even so, his hands shook… trembled, no matter how much he attempted to keep them still. The demon's smile was no more, only a grimace he could not conceal, his teeth clenched in anguish. _What will I do…?_ Bringing forth Mundus' army… It would mean the death of billions. He had come to terms with that fact long ago, yet… nothing. Not a thing in the world could grant him the resolve to kill Eva. To let the woman he loved die.

Perhaps it was a futile thing to agonize over. The ones who surrounded him would all come to lose their lives… If not, their friends and families would, surely. He had no control over that fact. Their intention was to wage a war, after all. To place Eva's life above that of his own kind, a life that would wither in less than a century. It was foolish. Foolish. The thought went against everything he stood for. Demons - Unlike her, they had a much greater lifespan, a much greater understanding of how to make the world that belonged to the humans flourish. His days spent with Eva and her kin, they were incredible. Beyond anything he could have ever imagined. But he couldn't let his feelings get in the way of that, howbeit it pained him to do so.

Sparda's disquietude would not go unnoticed, no matter how much Harry tried to overlook it. As the demon rose from his seat - taking careful steps not to awaken the woman beside him - the bartender couldn't help but wonder what had him so deep in thought, leaning his head back while pondering over the fact on his lonesome. As the two finally locked eyes, a smirk took hold of Harry's expression, the barkeep waving his hand and urging Sparda to sit next to him. Sparda felt so… exhausted, a feeling that became more prominent by the second. At least enough so, that the invitation became hard to refuse.

Harry lifted himself into a sitting position atop the counter, while Sparda leaned against it, much like the smoker had been before. The demon-in-guise sighed through his nose, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes, letting a brief flash of silence set in before it was ultimately broken once more. "I take it your family's not around, yeah?" That's what the barkeep asked, his eyes set on the wall in front of him, as opposed to the man he spoke with. The question itself felt rather amusing, more so due to it being an echo of Eva's query from the night they met. It must've been common for them… growing up with a father, a mother. Perhaps even both. "I have… never had a family. Wanted to, sometimes." He answered honestly, probably for the first time since he began to walk amongst humankind. He wasn't certain why that was, but… speaking to that man was something he felt compelled to do. Guilt, maybe. For knowing he'd soon be dead by Sparda's own doing. "How about you?"

"Divorced," Harry answered quickly, a gust of smoke exiting his lips through a long exhale. "She's the one who walked out on me, I…" There was a chuckle there, brief as it was. Like his words were coming out faster than he could muster to think them through. "We wanted different things, is all."

"She had her work, I had the _Kindred Rose,_ " he emphasized the title with a grin, some semblance of self-awareness in his voice as the bar's showy name rolled off his tongue. "Shit just doesn't mix together sometimes…" Sparda saw him reach for a bottle and a glass. Knowing he was gonna have to talk about his wife for the next few minutes, for Harry, the action came almost instinctually. Sparda himself inclined his head downward, again shutting his eyes, this time with a hint of a grin. "How'd you settle it?" It had his interest, admittedly. Human relationships sounded so boorish, truly, though it may be that that was what made them so fascinating. "Well, we fought," Harry told him after a long taste of scotch, and an even longer silent pause. "She got a job in D.C., _wanted_ to move, but I was havin' none of it. Building this place, actually running something I set up all on my own … It was the fucking dream since as far back as I can remember. Like hell was I giving up on it."

"One of us was bound to get fed up with the other eventually," he added with a shrug of his shoulders, smiling faintly. Sparda attempted a smile of his own, though little came of fruition. It was so hard not to think of Eva, not to imagine himself and her together. What may have been, what could have been... "Do you regret it?" The demon asked, finally. A somber tone engulfed that of his voice, much like the prospect of death that plagued his mind.

And Harry answered in a heartbeat, as though he had no doubt in his'. Not a single one. Perhaps he didn't. "Every day."

With time, the man let the glass rest in the counter, setting it aside so as to gather his thoughts. "Y'know, I like to think, and… I know this is probably the drink talking, but…" He trailed off with a laugh, his gaze drifting toward Sparda's. "Sometimes ya gotta do things you know you'll regret... so long as it makes you happy."

 _Something you'll regret…?_ Sparda felt the world reel around him, a mental spotlight being placed above him and shrouding everything else in darkness. He almost laughed at himself for considering the notion, and yet…

Part of him, a small, meager fraction of the Dark Knight not only took the human's words to heart, but reveled in them. To do what you felt was right, even when it wasn't, despite knowing the consequences. A fantasy in its purest form; as were the thoughts running through the demon's head when faced with his own personal ultimatum. So, which was it? Letting the humans perish, or standing up against the ones he called his own. Which one was going to be the source of all that regret?

 _Is this what I want?_

Sparda was silenced, nigh choked on his own words upon hearing Eva stand up from the seat on the edge of the room. Averting his gaze, his eyes desperate to avoid hers, he bit his lip. To hell with Mundus and the fate of the world. That woman had him more nervous than both combined. Eva walked up to the two of them in a saunter, her expression one Sparda couldn't read, as his eyes refused to move away from the floor. The woman sat on the stool beside him, not saying a word, or more so, not knowing which words to say. He imagined she was just as… _surprised_ as he was, looking back at what'd happened yesterday. They _were_ both seeing double when…

"Sorry I woke you," Sparda said in a low voice, breaking the flow of his own thoughts. What else could he say? For one, he was too flushed to even think straight. Despite that, nothing but relief washed over the white-haired one when Eva smiled back at him, reviving the luster in his crimson eyes. She looked like she wanted to say so many things, her lips trembling in expectation of the sound that refused to leave them. That is, until something caught her eye, causing the woman to stop dead in her tracks.

"Your thing is glowing."

Sparda's necklace, the perfect amulet, flashed in deep reds like the siren of a police cruiser. He immediately clutched the object with his white glove, despair written in his expression as panic began to rush down his veins. _It can't be. This soon...?!_ Indeed, that glimmer was a direct fallout of the Hell Gate, signaling what was about to come. There was no time to think. There was no time at all. Sparda swiftly rose to his feet, rushing towards the front door in a frenzy. "Stephen!" Eva shouted from behind him, confusion apparent in her voice. He hardly had the time to answer her call, turning his head back with a grimace to utter what may very well be the last words he would ever say to her.

"Wait for me."

Before long, Sparda was out of sight, having burst through the doorway to make his way through crowds of unaware humans. They had no idea of the chaos about to take their mundane lives by storm. They couldn't possibly imagine it. As the crowds subsided, and an empty street corner came into view, Sparda's human skin gradually came to dissipate, fragments of it falling off his body in place of the insect-like husk that enveloped his demon form. From his purple vest, two large wings tore their way through and gracefully flapped downward, sending the Dark Knight soaring through the skies.

 _I won't let her die!_

* * *

Time was nearing for the end and the beginning alike.

The wastelands of the Underworld looked barren to an extent previously thought unimaginable. That was because, in a single site, hordes of demons gathered in columns, soldiers preparing for battle, each yielding a weapon of its own. Interim, hundreds could be seen flying through the red skies, drawing dark lines of smoke amongst the clouds. Where they were all headed was a mystery to no one. It would not be long until the rupture of the Hell gate, when the army of Mundus would be able to run freely through the Human World. With scorching fire in his eyes, Sparda marched onward toward his destination: Mundus' castle.

Once past the castle's main entrance, Sparda was met with a long hallway, tens of meters long, with an equally grand, rose carpet that sprawled throughout it. It led to _The Great Hall_ , a strategy room of sorts, where the generals of the Demon Emperor gathered for one final convocation before the upcoming conflict; Four of them, assembled in a manner in which malevolence itself could be felt emanating from their sheer presence. There, amidst those all-powerful beings, is when he saw Mundus, his long silver hair flowing as the hellish winds struck against his face, in a manner almost angelic in essence. Yes, he too had adhered to a human form. His once gravelly voice had withered in place of a mellow sounding one. Every aspect of his features, from Mundus' chin to the tip of his nose evoked beauty in its purest form, resembling that of a deity. No longer did he have the appearance of a frightening creature, and not a single soul could be blamed for thinking the Prince of Darkness preferred it that way. In many aspects, it was more than evident that both he and Sparda had been captivated by the allure of humans.

As Sparda's hooves met with the castle's spotless floor, his footsteps reverberating through the room, there was no avoiding the menacing gazes of the demons of whom he'd fought alongside countless times.

Nevan, the Sorceress of the Abyss. She held a resemblance to the fairest of women, howbeit only in appearance. Her luscious red hair covered her light-green skin, hovering over her naked breasts. What remained of her revealing figure was covered by a long dark cloak, its fabric made out of heinous winged creatures whom she manipulated at will.

Beowulf, Mundus' strongest general outside of Sparda himself. Unlike Nevan, he looked nothing short of a feral beast, like a lion forcefully stripped of its mane, towering them all. Beowulf had but one horn above his temple, and four large wings on his back. He seemed restless, sitting alone in silence while awaiting the coming opportunity to satisfy his urge for blood.

And lastly, Agni and Rudra, the massive twin demons whose blades blocked Sparda's path. "Hold there, straggler!" Said the one whose skin was a shade of withered red, Agni, who pressed his red sword against Sparda's neck. "Our job is to guard this door!" Added the one with dark-blue skin, Rudra, who kept his identically colored sword adjacent to his companion's. They knew of Sparda's position, of course, as well as his business there. The demon's belatedness, however, did very little in his favor. Nevan held back the wicked grin threatening to form in her lips, her hips shifting to the right in a provocative manner. "Sparda, hun'," she muttered sadistically. "You had us thinking you wouldn't show~~." As the Dark Knight's presence became known to him, Beowulf shot a look at the opposite direction, a soft growl making its way through his razor-sharp teeth.

Amidst the commotion developing before him, Mundus' divine-like voice echoed through the hall like the delicate tune of a harp and as powerfully as the slash of a sword, silencing all those in the room. "Don't fret. Let him through." In response, the blades of the two brothers, Agni and Rudra, immediately returned to their sheaths. The tension in the air had Sparda's slit, pupilless eyes narrowing even further. The demon felt at an impasse right away, cornered like an animal.

He marched on, nonetheless. Knowing it was much too late to back away in any manner, shape or form.

Sparda struck the table in the center of the room with his clawed hands, refusing to let his gaze falter away from the Dark Emperor. "I won't be part of it." He stated so with conviction, not an ounce of hesitance in his vigorous voice. The utterance of those words sent shockwaves past the ones present to hear them, like a deafening thunderclap one couldn't shield their ears from. The larger of Mundus' generals turned his head in its direction, letting out a blast of wind through his nostrils. "Part of what?" Asked Beowulf, a tinge of resentment in his tone he couldn't possibly hide.

"The slaughter, the convergence…" The demon continued through gritted teeth, fighting back the urge to raise his voice. "I'm through with it."

Mundus' widened eyes conveyed everything he had to know. To think Sparda, the ruthless swordsman under his wing, would ever come to say such a thing. Sparda could hardly believe it himself. Fighting and killing… Up to that point, it had been nothing short of his entire life, what gave meaning to every step he took. He'd sworn allegiance to Mundus for that very reason. To search for that meaning he so desperately craved for.

For better or for worse, Sparda had finally found it. After hundreds of years spent battling an enemy of no… true entity, all for a hollow goal. The truly laughable thing was how long it took him to realize it. Sparda finally had a purpose to call his own.

"I don't understand."

"This was _our_ goal. _Our_ dream."Mundus tried to grasp the situation to the very best of his ability, scrunching his delicate features together in utter puzzlement. He couldn't, however. Not even if the Demon Emperor tried his hardest. Love - for a _human_ no less. Such a thing was far beyond his grasp, farther than the humans themselves lied from their world. Mundus' stretched out, nigh crazed eyes were the sole part of his body to move as little as an inch, as his body was frozen stiff.

The same could not be said for his collaterals.

Beowulf stood up in a matter of an instant, charging in Sparda's direction independent of anything that stood in his way - Among those, the table in the center of the room, which he hurled to the side with utmost force. "So that's it, then? You're turning your back on us, Sparda?" The beast's foul breath became above tangible as he leaned forward, displaying his sharp teeth to the one he challenged. Unmitigated fury danced around his tongue, as though fire itself was ready to shoot out of his mouth, and yet Sparda stood firm, locking his eyes with Beowulf's without so little as a hint of fear. He didn't give him an answer. Truth be told, Sparda didn't have an answer _to_ give. By then, Mundus had had enough. His fingers curled up into fists and his voice enveloped the room once more. "Stand down!"

A menacing silence came to pass, enhancing the tension present for them all to feel. No one else dared to make a sound, not even the perverse Nevan, who found herself struggling more and more to suppress a mad laugh. Mundus' left hand drifted to his chin, while his pale fingers slowly enveloped it. They both knew each other too well to assume either could sway the other. A stalemate with no foreseeable solution. "I assume you don't intend to just stay out of it," he asked the deserter in question, knowing full-well what answer to expect. Sparda's mouth moved, though the words that intended to leave it took much longer to do so.

As his friend stared at him in turmoil, Sparda couldn't help but feel guilt weighing down upon him. A sense of sadness one simply couldn't shake away. Betraying those closest to him, nothing short of waging war against them, for the sake of Eva and the humans. It was a decision impossible to back away from, something he wasn't certain he could achieve on his own. Was he truly ready to throw his life away for such a cause? In the end, the answer came naturally. Reflection urged him to realize he should've died hundreds of battles ago. That each of those times, he lived on for no better reason than because he kept fighting. For centuries he'd fought for Mundus, and he had fought for himself. That day, he would fight for Eva, and if he had even the slightest chance of saving the woman he loved, it wouldn't have been for nothing.

Suicide or not, Sparda's mind was set. No amount of guilt and regret could ever stop him.

"I'm going to protect them. As many as I can." Thus, the demon had sung his parting song. Beowulf, Nevan, Agni and Rudra… even Mundus, had nothing but shock in their eyes, for they no longer could they see Sparda as anything but a threat. In response, the Prince of Darkness turned his back on him, a final gesture, an _attempt_ to show contempt as he was faced with the pain that stemmed with the prospect of killing his closest friend. "We'll strike in less than an hour."

"After that, there is not a thing in this world that will stop me from taking your life. You understand that, don't you?" He could not falter, not in a single word, not now. Not after the millennia of fighting it took for them to get as far as they did. Mundus hoped the statement would bring sense to him, that he'd just stand aside if given the chance. In more ways than one, it seemed he was just as foolish as Sparda. To that, the Dark Knight nodded wistfully, his fate having been sealed by the act. Soon, his steps came to echo again, one by one, until they made no sound at all. Until Sparda had left the castle.

As Mundus' perfect teeth gritted together, the Demon King began to lose his balance, rage and grief taking over him completely as punched the wall beside him with all of his strength, sending debris flying to all sides and creating a crater much larger than his fist. Behind him, chatter and shouting engulfed his surroundings in response of what had just taken place, all coming from his generals. He couldn't hear a single one of them. For a long time, it stayed that way. Mundus' thoughts had become clouded beyond any semblance of recognition.

"What'll we do about _him?"_ One question managed to stand out amidst the many others, finding its way to him. Mundus frowned deeply, pushing himself away from the wall as he found himself standing in front of his generals, each and every single one of them looking up to him, awaiting his command.

"Kill Sparda. No compromises."

 **[Author's note: Apologies for how dang long this one took to come out, I sat on it for quite a while. Expect future chapters to continue coming out sporadically and bear with me if possible!]**


	5. Chapter 5

_Just another morning, they thought._

 _Thousands of families turning on their televisions, all simultaneously tuning in to their local news channel. To each and every one of them, something felt eerily amiss, despite the ingrained feeling of mundaneness in their lives._

 _A reporter, slick and clean-cut sat on a desk just as tidy as his hair, looking over the cameras in front of him with only the mildest of concern. "Good morning, I'm Langston Hughes. We're live with reports of a 5.6 magnitude earthquake in Pittsburgh, Ohio, causing many buildings around the area to collapse. The number of casualties is still unaccounted for, though it is estimated to be within the hundreds."_

 _Pictures flashed past the screen. Destruction. Dread. An object of fantastical size overlooking any and all who tried to capture it behind a dark screen. "There have been sightings of a large stone wall of about 400 feet mysteriously emerging from the ground, currently believed to be the source of the earthquake. We'll be bringing you updates as the..." Chatting. Panicked chatting reached the man's ears through the form of a small earpiece. "There's, uh… There have also been sightings of-."_

 _The TV station trembled, as though the structure itself feared what was to come. People raced to safety, practically climbing on top of each other before the broadcast was shut down completely._

 _Leaving the families in utter darkness._

* * *

The Hell Gate shook and vibrated, annihilating anything in its immediate surroundings with earth-shattering seismic waves. Lines of cars were hurled away as though they were as light as a feather. A large crack formed in the pavement, stretching on for miles, destroying the once peaceful streets of Pittsburgh while its citizens ran for their lives.

Amidst the chaos, a beam of light shone at the top of the gate, its solid surface melting, nigh imploding, as beyond the clouds, the sky morphed into a dark-red tint.

With the snap of a finger, the implosion became an explosion. A mist-like black shadow tore its way through the stone surface, launching shockwaves powerful enough that they could no longer be mistaken for a mere earthquake. Horrifying hisses filled the air. Hordes of demons donning their torn, dark capes soared through the scarlet skies, their numbers so great, the scythed creatures all blended together in one dusk-filled path.

No matter how much they tried, the humans could not outrun them. Men, women and children alike were torn to shreds by their weapons, sending gushes of thick blood that stained the roads with a deep red. The demons showed no mercy nor compassion. They knew not the meaning of such words.

As the swarm of demons came to dissipate, from the Hell Gate, one more ray of light gleamed like the morning sun. The light was silver and bright beyond the comprehension of any human, a vigorous contrast to the darkness that surrounded it one time before. From the very depths of that light… appeared Mundus in his human form, joined by his generals, who stood right by his side. Between his long strands of white hair were clouds of smoke, all provoked by the destruction around him. Corpses were piled up atop one another, ushering in a dreadful stench of death in the air. Mundus shut his eyes, softly raising his voice. "You're free to do as you please. There'll be no scrutiny."

"Kill them all."

He knew not where Sparda found himself, and the Prince of Darkness had no time to dwell on such a matter. What would entail on this day was much larger than the two of them. Much more than a simple feud between demons. The entire fate of their race hung in the balance... Circumstances demanded him to focus on the task at hand, over petty disagreements.

This judgment would not be shared amongst all of his comrades, however.

* * *

"Wait for me, Eva!" The little girl, Mel, echoed mockingly, pressing her hands together bombastically. She knew for sure Eva and the white-haired one had the mushiest, most lovey-dovey thing for each other, smiling wickedly. Eva, the one of two halves of the lovesick pair herself, flicked the child's forehead to get her to stop, a pout nestled in her lips. "Will you quit that?"

It'd been quite a while since Steven left, seemingly in a hurry. Inside _The Kindred Rose,_ the small television hoisted above the counter broadcasted strange messages through grainy, shaky footage, and a plethora of loud, unintelligible voices. They laughed behind him, but Harry couldn't pay Eva nor the children any mind. His eyes were drawn to the screen, entranced by the little they could process, the barkeep's mouth hanging almost comically open. "The hell...?" Harry said through a mutter.

Even from the inside of the bar, guttural screams were the first thing to grace his ears, followed by thunderous steps of scared citizens marching through the streets. He found himself leaning closer to the counter, instinctually reaching for the lever-action hidden behind it. "Eva, get the kids," he damn near demanded in short, panicked breaths, looking over them with concern. Hardly even a second before he finished, the window standing next to the locked wooden door cracked unexpectedly, emphatically so, sending chills down Harry's arms. A cloaked figure coated in black smashed its own body against the window, its creepy teeth smearing blood against it, a long scythe raised over its shoulder as the monster prepared to strike.

"Now!" He urged through a resonant shout, fingers finally interlaced with the firearm. The fucking thing barely looked human. He didn't think twice.

The weapon's shells took flight in an ear-splitting explosion of powder, bursting through the window. It merely grazed the lower class demon, yet sent it flying back all the same. Doubt and hesitation forced Harry to make it a warning shot, drops of sweat running down his forehead as he pulled the lever of his 12 gauge. The monster stood up with little more than a nagging neck pain, effortlessly crawling through the opening filled with broken shards of glass. _What is this shit...?!_

Before Harry could take another shot, the scrawny servant of Mundus was grabbed off its feet, enveloped by a hand colossal in size, which swiftly came to crush the demon like a wishbone. The culprit of the brutality had run for miles across what he could only describe as a breathtaking battlefield, following a faint lead that grew progressively less so as he made his way to _New York City_.

"I smell your scent, traitor."

The wall came crashing down nearly as though it had been torn apart by a wrecking ball. Not only the door, but drink glasses, chairs, and even tables were all destroyed in an instant, demolished by the shockwave brought about by the impact, leaving next to no traces of their existence behind. Harry could just barely spot the woman in red from the corner of his eye, even as his gaze was filled with dirt. She dragged the two kids as far away from the mayhem as the bar's structure would allow, keeping her arms wrapped around them so as to shield them from the rubble. As the dust settled, a fearsome creature made itself known. Ash and grime settled in its broad shoulders, sent flying by its twitching muscles and the bursts of wind coming out of its flaring nostrils. The beast puffed out its chest, sucking every ounce of air left in the room and letting it out in a petrifying roar. Harry could not believe his eyes, taking careful steps back in an act of instinct, all whilst gripping the barrel of his shotgun with utmost force, clinging to it and refusing to let go. His hands trembled, eyes widened in terror. The roll of tobacco once held by his lips had fallen to the floor, now crushed by fallen rubble. The reclusive bartender had never been so terrified.

Beowulf displayed his fangs in a ghastly smile, flashing his red eyes at the anxious man he towered. "Take the shot, human." His voice sounded calm and collected, the demon - not at all subtly - taking pleasure in his actions. To an extent, he simply wanted to watch. See the man's fear be truly realized, every bit of hope be forcefully ripped away before he took his last breath. "TAKE THE SHOT!" The demon roared once more, Harry then gritting his teeth, being the sole thing standing between the monster and Eva, the children.

 _Fuck it._

He took the shot in a frenzy, the bullets spreading at great speed, piercing the demon's chest. That it had, indeed, to even Beowulf's surprise. Nothing more than a small wound yes, but an injury nonetheless, blood trickling down from it and being spilled on the wooden floors. He was almost impressed.

One resounding step after the next, Beowulf charged towards the human, raising his colossal fist and bringing it down in one nimble, precise motion, the strike violently connecting to the man's chest and sending Harry flying away. It wasn't very long until he felt his back collide against the walls, the sound of cracking ribs echoing in his ears louder than even the ones of snapping wood. He fell down near motionless, screaming out in pain, planting his face against the floor, the shotgun sliding away from his broken fingers. He couldn't do a thing to stop that freak. Beowulf looked down upon him with genuine pity. Down with a single strike, and the human could hardly fight back. Even after hundreds of years of nonstop fighting, it was hardly an easy task to recall a sight so deplorable, a warrior quite so pitiful. _Scum,_ thought the demon. Soon they'd take their rightful home away from those miserable beings.

He moved on with a light scoff, continuing onward in the direction of Eva, Mel, and Robin. The latter two would die fast, he imagined. No use rushing the inevitable. "Where's Sparda?" He asked matter-of-factly, his grin dissipating in place of a hideous glower. He wanted to tear the Dark Knight apart, slowly. Make him feel pain and loss for the first time in his insignificant life.

Eva didn't answer, needless to mention. Trying to make sense of any of what occurred in front of her was something the woman had long since ceased to attempt. Beside her, Harry bled profusely, the red liquid forcibly pouring out of his mouth. Maybe she would have prayed, had the thought occurred to her. In truth, nothing else ran through her mind. Nothing except protecting the boy and the girl behind her. "Eva...?" Robin uttered in a sob, interrupted only by Mel reaching to take hold of his hand, urging him to keep quiet.

It was hard for any of them to foresee making it out of there alive.

Still, Eva eyed the beast unfalteringly, almost making Beowulf himself waver in his own glare. The demon chuckled, his question going unanswered. _Fine, then._ The giant grabbed Eva by the woman's collar, tightening his grip ever-so-slightly, softly pressing his razor-sharp nails against her neck. Such a piercing gaze, she had. It wouldn't last. Not as it fell on the children's corpses collapsed on the floor. Beowulf smashed her against the wall - softly enough so that she wouldn't be _as_ injured as the man - while keeping his grip tight so as to prevent her from escaping. Next, he leaned forward, exhaling a loud breath of air on his prey. Eva tried to fight back, of course, but she could only do so much.

Beowulf lifted a single finger, intending to use it to pierce both kids at once, wear them like a ring as the woman watched in horror. Hell... he'd found himself nearly drooling over the thought. "Nap time, children." As he thrust his finger forward, he felt something hold it back, keep it from reaching Mel and Robin. Squishy, but warm. Bone-like.

Using the last of his strength, Harry had leaped forward, kneeling between the demon and the children. A final, desperate struggle to ensure that _thing_ wouldn't touch them. It all happened pretty fast; The remnants of his rib cage being destroyed like they were made of jelly. The gush of blood leaving his chest and lips as Beowulf's finger burst through. Before he was able to feel any serious degree of pain, his consciousness had long slipped away. Eva and the children screamed and cried in horror. **"Harry!"** Robin distinctly shouted, tears running down his freckles, though the man could sadly no longer hear him.

The brute wasn't expecting that. Frankly, he almost commended the guy. Had he not just thrown his life away, that is. He violently swung his arm back, sliding the human out of his index finger and sending the barkeep's body flying one final time. "Go on," Beowulf said. "Cry on, little sheep."

 _ **BANG**_

A gunshot rang throughout what once was the Kindred Rose, painfully connecting to the behemoth's back. Beowulf's eyes widened for an instant as the impact struck him, the demon instinctively reaching for the bleeding wound on his back. "Who-?!"

Sparda held the pistol firmly, aiming it against the devil holding his loved one. The wind struck powerfully against his white hair and lavender coat, smoke blowing out of the weapon's muzzle, flowing upward...

... toward his rage-filled crimson eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

_Pittsburgh had grown silent._

 _Entire city blocks had been reduced to empty, dark craters, bottomless flesh pits. Bodies were scattered through the streets in orderly fashion, few of them intact enough to resemble a human person. The Hell Gate continued to loom over the quiet town, unmoving - its purpose served. The Demons it once brought forth all circled houses and buildings aimlessly, seeking more to kill._

 _Mundus walked through that field of death alone, refusing to shy away from what he had caused. His shining red eyes hovered through the mutilated corpses and empty, ruined storefronts, the city blocks that housed countless families, the ashes from which his kin celebrated over. And he felt no pride in it. No dignity in the ending of so many lives - the blood that ran through their veins notwithstanding. He knew to separate what was right from what was necessary. It was his duty, after all, to ensure such sacrifice held a purpose. He sat still before a van drafted with words and letters he did not understand, focusing instead on the single word that held meaning to him: Broadcasting._

 _The man near it had been dead a long time, remnants of shock in his empty eyes as he held onto a camera for dear life. It had been 'broadcasting' still, though it remained pointed at the blood-tinted sky. Mundus' soft, human-like hands grasped at its handle, letting his shimmering eyes reflect on the opaque mirror aimed at his features. Not enough would listen, but the message would be made known. He didn't hesitate to leave his mouth agape and utter the paramount words begging to be shared with the world. It was too late to be hesitant._

 _ **"This is an open letter to all of you willing to listen."**_

 _ **"My name is Mundus, and from this day until the end of days, you are to live under my rule. My demands are simple. You have seen what happens to those insistent on defying us. As a show of strength, and to serve as a cautionary tale, your city has been utterly wiped of life. No... despite that, my kind does not seek to terminate you. This was a warning and nothing more. Provided you pledge unanimity, you have my word that no remaining humans will be harmed. We tolerate no means of aversion. Whether this war ends today, or lasts until there are none left, the Human World now belongs to Demonkind. Your leaders will have until the next sunrise to make their decision. Allegiance or death.**_

 _ **Our time of hiding is over."**_

* * *

Beowulf charged toward the former Demon general, so full of rage, he couldn't help but do so on all fours. Another gunshot left its chamber as Sparda leaned his forefinger against the trigger: Once, twice, and a third time, all in what seemed like a flash. The bullets all connected. Reflecting against Beowulf's shoulder, piercing his chest, while the third, he grabbed in mid-air with his large mouth, twisting and splitting into two with his teeth. Another instant, and Sparda would be next.

The white-haired one effortlessly leaped into the air, his purple jacket twirling in the wind as he narrowly avoided being crushed between Beowulf's jaw. The beast rammed against the wall like a bulldozer, though it did little to stun him, as he threw his body in the opposite direction, mouth dripping with saliva; blind fury. Sparda unloaded his silver pistol on the one serving Mundus, gushes of blood spraying on the wooden tiles. A final, empty click rung through the Kindred Rose, announcing that the weapon had no more ammo to spend. Allowing Beowulf a brief and deadly opening. He lunged forward, flashing his fangs, leaving Sparda no choice but to keep him at bay with his arm. Another river of blood splashed like the bottom of a waterfall, the giant's large canines stabbing clean through Sparda's forearm and viciously mauling at it. The Dark Knight grimaced as his white glove became stained with enough crimson to match his eyes, his body fighting back against Beowulf's colossal strength as though the latter was only a rabid dog. Sparda pulled him closer, enduring the pain, and stared the monster down with diligence to rival even the fiery gaze of the woman he loved.

The pistol spun between Sparda's fingers, led dexterously toward the demon's waist. As it spiraled like a helicopter blade, the gun's grip faced his belt, where lay another magazine. It slid in without a hitch, clicking into place, before it and the weapon instantly rose upward. Sparda pulled the trigger and the muzzle exploded with bullets, every one propelled toward Beowulf's skull in a straight line. Each shot flashed brighter than the rest - wounded more than the ones before. Beowulf staggered backward, leaving trails of red behind, and letting loose Sparda's arm. He, too, fell back, letting the skin around his forearm regenerate to once again hide his bones.

"Leave," warned Sparda, adjusting the collar of his ruined jacket. Still, Beowulf charged, bloody features and all. He swung his arms forward, punches striking only the air as Sparda skillfully dodged one after the other, emptying one magazine after the next, allowing its muzzle to release smoke as often as a chimney and as wildly as a forest fire.

Beowulf dropped to the floor, his claws piercing the wood, chest replete with see-through holes. The goliath wiped red off his eyes, while Sparda threw away his empty silver pistol, huffing in anticipation. " **I'LL TEAR YOU APART, TRAITOR. YOUR HEAD WILL BE A TROPHY IN MY** _ **BLASTED WALL!**_ Beowulf roared so loudly, the building itself felt it. He threw himself at Sparda, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up like a ragdoll. The giant dragged him through the walls, smashing his head against already fractured wood to create massive holes. Gasping for air, lungs compressed by a hand the size of his torso, Sparda's hair fell over his face; his monocle shattered beneath him, clothes tattered beyond repair. The beast clenched its left hand trying to crush the demon's windpipe, and later rip off his head like one would a soda cap.

That is, until the white-haired one lifted a fist of his own, wrapping his then broken fingers around Beowulf's large thumb and twisting it with all the strength he still possessed in his human form. The large demon cried in pain as he felt his skin tear, bone disconnect from bone. His grip loosened, and the one once in his grip used the beast's hand as a jumping pad, holding Beowulf by one of his horns and throwing his left arm behind him, swinging it forward in the form of a hook. Sparda didn't stop. Another punch broke a teeth. Another sliced his lip. The two that followed, swelling the area around the monster's eye. The glove in Sparda's hand wearing away into small pieces.

Once again the monster lost its footing, nearly falling on his back. Sparda yelled a thundering shout, wrapping both of his hands around Beowulf's single horn. He pulled and pulled, as hard as he could, until the strings of flesh that kept it in place lost the ability to do so. Blood gushed, and the beast fought back. Sparda stunned him with a kick to the face, his boot landing on his eye and scraping against it. Within a terrible second, Beowulf's horn was ripped off completely. More gravelly screams reached Sparda's ears as he held it in his hands, yet the demon felt no pity. Beowulf knocked him away with a powerful backhand, sending Sparda plummeting downward, the beast's horn with it. Beowulf's massive hands drifted toward the top of his head as pain shot through it, while Sparda spat blood on the floor, holding his broken wrist and dislocated arm between fractured fingers. Both devils tended to their wounds, injuries that wouldn't heal fast enough.

Mundus' former right hand knew Eva watched what unfolded behind him, grimacing inwardly at the consequences that had long since dawned upon him. Nothing else mattered anymore. As long as she was safe. "I'm still standing!" Sparda provoked his rival, his legs shaking from the pain. Though he forced a smile, it was merely front. And the demon's loud grin dissipated as Beowulf threw himself against him once again.

Sparda took the first blow with his hands, extending his arms to diminish the impact. Its insides exploded from within, ripping cloth with them. He rushed forward to take the next blow, blocking it with his right arm, protecting his head, only to have it shatter in front of him, leaving nothing but crushed muscle behind, humerus exposed. Sparda fell back, arms limp, and took the next blow to his face. The impact had his feet leaving the ground and meeting the wall. Beowulf slavered the words **"DIE,"** and **"COWARD"** endlessly whilst he rammed his fists against Sparda and the wall, seemingly never intending to stop.

When his eyes opened, Sparda saw red, literally and figuratively. Fist met bone again as Sparda's skull was dug deeper into the wall, the rest of his body following suit. Consciousness failed him, as it had many times before. A punch to the chest saw his ribs shatter and leave its cage's shape a thing of the past. The following six, ripped a hole in his chest large enough for Beowulf's fist to force its way through. Slowly, Sparda's eyes began losing their color.

Sparda had always told himself he wouldn't get introspective when the time came for his conscience to fade for eternity. Yet, his only thoughts were of the human he loved. The human he would die for. He couldn't rightly decide whether he was short of regret or suffused with that feeling called happiness. It made sense to let his thoughts end there.

Suddenly, Beowulf felt his right eye be pierced by something metal, liquid splattering from its insides. Eva, the woman, she held in her arms a large coat hanger with a sharp edge, which the blonde used to drive into the beast's flesh. She'd forced fear to the back of her mind, attacking the giant without an ounce of hesitation. Beowulf could not grasp the pain he felt, much less the fact that a human could injure him such. Had the transition between worlds weakened him to that extent?! He forced his jaw shut to end the screams, fully intent on making the human scream next.

Then, the crater left in the wall flashed in red and purple sparks, echoing as loud as a thunderclap. The flesh around Beowulf's fist hardened and tightened around his wrist, urging him to roar in inhuman pain. Claws - dark, monster-like ones - grasped at his forearm and did not let go. Sparda stood, even so close to facing death, head raised, gaze meeting that of his foe. His ribcage regenerated at an astounding rate, edges of bone stabbing through Beowulf's arm, locking the beast's hand inside his tissue. He walked forward, one step after the next. Nothing of his human form remained. Nothing but the color of his eyes, matching the fury of his glare.

The demon's arm faced the ceiling, calling forth an outburst of energy that blinded all present. From the smoke that dwelled in the room appeared a large sword; massive in size, its handle resembling its owner's true form. The blade descended upon Beowulf's hand, slicing it perfectly into two. He had no time to shout, as Sparda marched forward, ripping the dead hand from out of his chest. Beowulf's stump showered him in blood, and from that sea of red, the blade cut through in a stinger-like motion. It found its way through Beowulf's stomach with ease, and yanked away from it in a matter of an instant. **"S - SPARDA** _ **AAAA...!"**_ was the last thing he uttered. Sparda's claws covered Beowulf's face whole, and as the demon took a final step onward, intense momentum was followed by the large beast being tossed against the bar's counter, rendering him unconscious while dust rose from under them.

It settled, with time. Sparda, The Dark Knight, held the Force Edge in a powerful grip, its end touching the floor next to his scally foot. Though, even in victory, his sharp pair of teeth could form nothing but anguish, knowing the one he loved watched him in fear.


End file.
